Sealed with a Deal
by Whispering Darkness
Summary: A story told in 200 word snippets. Slash, Crowley/Harry. Nothing is free in this world. Not even a simple question. So let's make a deal. Harry wasn't about to sell his soul, but there were a few other things he could probably do without...
1. Curiosity

**Curiosity**

* * *

Crowley wasn't sure _what_ it was about the bloke that aroused his curiosity.

It wasn't the fact that the guy was delicate, with untamed dark hair and bright green eyes partly hidden behind glasses. Sure he was beautiful, but there were many beautiful people in the world and Crowley had met his fair share of them.

It wasn't even the fact that the guy was British – he hadn't heard the accent until he was already stalking – err… following – the bloke.

No, it was the fact that the King of the Crossroads could almost _smell_ the inhumanness on the man. He could almost _sense_ the power hidden in the deceptively harmless looking package.

Almost, but not quite.

The young man felt human. There was nothing demonic and nothing angelic about him.

But Crowley hadn't become top-dog, so to speak, by trusting anyone or anything. And that included his senses. No, there was something about this guy. _Something_.

The question was _what_?

So Crowley trailed after the bloke, keeping a fair distance between them, and looked for the lie - looked for _anything_ that would betray that this man was more than human.

Hours later, he still hadn't come up with anything.

* * *

(Word Count: 200)

**A.N.:** Another series of drabbles, each of them 200 words. Also, my first actual slash story. I'm not sure what to think of that, actually. Guess it had to happen sometime...? And hey, it's rated T. So, it's more like a careful exploration into slash territory. Scary.


	2. Stalker

**Stalker**

* * *

Harry could sense the eyes on his back. Though, truthfully, he was so used to people following him with pointed fingers, awed whispers or excited yells that it took him a while to realise that he _shouldn't_ have had that feeling here, in America, amongst muggles.

He stopped in his tracks and automatically looked around when the implications of that thought hit him. Seeing a variety of people, some of them giving him an odd look for his sudden halt, Harry had no way of knowing just _who_ it was that had been following him around.

The Master of Death silently reprimanded himself for being obvious - but it's hard to fight instinct. Especially when it catches you off guard.

Hoping that he hadn't given himself away, he continued walking - acting like he wasn't aware of anything out of the ordinary.

Careful use of his magic informed him of a dark aura that was never too far behind him. Careful use of shop windows, car windows and subtle changes of direction gave him no clues whatsoever.

Somehow, the person following him always managed to keep himself hidden.

Harry seriously started to consider the possibility of his stalker being invisible.

* * *

(Word Count: 200)

**A.N.:** Ok, so about the timeline... this is post Hogwarts (I love writing Harry exploring the world after that mess in England - he deserves to have a bit of fun). As for Supernatural - I've only ever seen up to Season 5 - which is why I refer to Crowley as the King of Crossroads. Other than those specifics... _shrugs shoulders_


	3. Fun and Games

**Fun and Games**

* * *

Crowley was starting to doubt the gut-feeling that told him the young man was more than human. Because he was acting _exactly_ like a human.

Hours into this little game, the bloke finally realised that he was being followed. His reaction was so immediate and obvious that it was somewhat embarrassing for the guy.

Though, the way he immediately went back to what he was doing as if a switch had been thrown was amusing. Like the guy _hadn't_ given himself away already. How stupid did the emerald eyed-beauty think he was? That was Winchester levels of wishful thinking right there.

The sort of thinking that was stamped out of any supernatural being that managed to survive past their first century or so. The sort of thinking that was undeniably _human_.

So yeah, Crowley was just about ready to write all of this off as paranoia.

But it was also rather adorable, the way his quarry tried to use the reflection of windows to catch a glimpse of him. So the demon kept stalking him, just for fun.

He was the King of the Crossroads after all – it was not like he had anything better to do with his time.

* * *

(Word Count: 200)

**A.N.:** Thanks, everyone, for reviewing :) I like this whole drabble-a-day thing... I hope I can keep it up.


	4. Hide and Seek

**Hide and Seek**

* * *

Harry Potter was getting irked.

It was getting dark out and he _still_ hadn't seen his stalker. So the Gryffindor decided to give up on subtlety (it was never one of his strong suits) and decided to just confront the guy (well, it _felt_ like a guy to him).

He stopped walking abruptly and turned. As usual in this hour long game of hide and seek; there was no one in sight. But Harry didn't let that stop him this time. He followed the dark aura that his magic had pinpointed hours ago to its source.

Or he _would_ have. If that source hadn't decided to move.

With a frustrated noise, Harry went from stalkee to stalker and the game began anew.

And that vast, darkly twinkling aura became clearer and clearer in his mind's eye as he focused more and more on it – until he could almost feel the amusement radiating from it.

That only made him more determined to find this, whatever it was, and wipe that damn smirk that the wizard could practically _see_ right off his face.

The aura led him on a merry chase.

And if anyone was laughing, it sure as hell wasn't Harry.

* * *

(Word Count: 200)


	5. Meeting

**Meeting**

* * *

Crowley'd been just a tad surprised when he realised that the little human could _actually_ track him. 'Perhaps he's not so human after all?' The Crossroad King considered silently.

By now he had tired of their game and decided to stop hiding. The spot he chose for their meeting was a deserted street corner – where two roads crossed. Familiar grounds.

The guy proved how easily he could track him by showing up just moments later. His playmate halted when he finally laid eyes on him and Crowley stood still while those blazing emerald eyes roved across his form.

A moment of silence settled between them. If a passer-by were to look, they would see one slight male with tousled hair and narrowed eyes, staring at an untroubled, older-looking man casually leaning against a lamppost. They probably wouldn't have noticed the tension in the casual man's shoulders or the calm assessment in wild-haired one's stare.

"Who are you?" a dangerously soft voice asked him, and, though Crowley would _never_ admit it, he was unsettled by how _hunted_ that smaller man suddenly made him feel. The demon was now sure of one thing – that bloke was about as human as _he_ was.

* * *

Up until this point this had all been _his_ game, but now, _now_ Crowley could tell that despite the fact that he had always held all the cards, somehow this little thing had _more_ than just a few aces up his sleeves. The danger in his voice, the promise of power in those eyes - they told him that this human-looking man had a few jokers ready to lay down – should the situation warrant them.

But Crowley was a master at this game – so he hid his trepidation behind a mask of casual confidence.

"Now, now mate, nothing is free in this world." Crowley said with a smirk, giving nothing away. He was a businessman after all, and he knew _exactly_ how to get the most out of every situation – every deal. The trick was to never give too much away – never make it sound like _you_ were the one who wanted something. No, make it sound like you're doing _them_ a favour. That was how it works – that was how he managed to become the best damned Crossroad demon out there.

"If you want me to tell you who I am – you'll have to give me something in return."

* * *

(Word Count: 2 x 200)

**A.N:** A double drabble, because now we're getting somewhere. I hope I'm writing Crowley within exceptable levels of Crowley-ness... Never seen much more than Season 5, so there's that.


	6. Deal

**Deal**

* * *

Harry supposed that fair was fair, an even exchange, a name for a name. "Alright," he agreed easily.

"It's a deal." the other man informed him, something wicked about his smile.

Harry barely had a moment to think 'what is he…?' before those lips descended on his own. Automatically his arms reached out, to push the bloke away, or to steady himself - he wasn't sure. But then sensation took over, took him captive and all conscious thought left him as his eyes fluttered closed.

There was a dark power thrumming beneath his hands – something old and dangerous that should have frightened him. But to the Master of Death it didn't feel like danger. It felt like coming back after a long, far away holiday and seeing that your home doesn't look exactly like you remember it – but after you settle down in that familiar chair, close your eyes and let the scents wash over you, you'll recognize it as home.

This man felt like that; like something barely recognized, something dark, exciting and unfamiliar and yet _so familiar_ that Harry couldn't help but melt into the kiss until the only thing holding him up was the man's tight hold.

* * *

(Word Count: 200)

**A.N.:** Just for clarification, the deal Crowley offered in between this scene and the previous was just that.

And can I just say that I feel really weird, writing something like this and posting it. I've never written actual romance or slash, just the sort of stories where you can squint and you could maybe see romance if you like, but nothing more. Just, _weird_, is all.


	7. Taste of Magic

**Taste of Magic**

* * *

Crowley hadn't been able to sense this man's power. Hadn't been able to see it or smell it. His gut, his survival instinct had told him that there was _something _but he couldn't tell what_. _But now, now he could _taste_ it.

On the guy's lips he hadn't tasted anything but a hint of chocolate. But as the youth sighed against him, his lips parting slightly, the demon couldn't resist taking this _just_ a little further. Tightening his hold, he slipped his tongue into the smaller man's mouth – where it was met by the taste of power, magic and Death.

He was bloody well _right_ – this bloke _was_ something more than human, more powerful perhaps even than _himself_.

And that might have given him pause, might have worried him just a tad, because Crowley was the sort of demon who took his own survival _very_ seriously.

But this powerful being was just about slack in his grasp, sweetly pliant under the demon's hands, softly moaning against his lips – and Crowley just felt undeniably smug instead.

One of his hands lifted to, almost tenderly, hold the beauty's head. The other arm held on to the younger man with a powerful, merciless grip, as he delved deeper into the tempting taste of magic.

* * *

(Word Count: 211)

**A.N.:** Ok, so I cheated on the word-count for this one. Or should I say Crowley did... But then, he's a demon, right. So I suppose that should have been expected.

I may take another look at this later on and fix it up, to 200 words, but since I wanted to keep up with my daily drabbles. _shrugs_

Anyway, one more chapter and I'm through with this little experiment. For now :P


	8. Like Vegas

**Like Vegas**

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they were in a luxurious hotel room.

Harry had told the demon his name in return for Crowley's own, had exchanged information about recent events in the wizarding world for information about demons, had traded his dragon-hide boots (that automatically adjusted their size to the wearer) for the man's expensive tie, and had promised to buy the man an expensive bottle of scotch in return for providing transportation to the hotel.

He was currently sealing the deal on his Foe Glass (that thing was hardly helpful – he never looked at it in time for it to be of use) and decided that, if pressed on the issue, he could really do without his set of Wizard Chess as well, not to mention the dark artefacts he had inherited from his Godfather – the Black Vault was _filled_ with them. And Crowley was both a demon and a business man – surely he would have an interest… and something to offer in return?

Yes, Harry was sure that they could come to some sort of _deal_.

Not that there was actually anything that he needed or wanted in return – in fact, what _had_ Crowley given him for that Foe Glass again?

Harry frowned, trying to recall the deal he had made only moments ago, but the kiss he'd received had already burned the memory away. It didn't matter anyway, because another one of his offers was accepted by the demon with a devious smirk and the Master of Death leaned in for yet another kiss.

His thoughts were again reduced to a hazy mess as Crowley ravaged his mouth. Harry moaned softly and tugged the demon even closer.

He didn't know just _when_ he had ended up sitting on the bed, but he didn't even think to protest when the taller man pushed him down. The demon was standing over him with a smug smile and offered him his suit jacket in exchange for the basilisk-fang knife Harry'd carefully tucked in his own coat (how had Crowley known it was there?).

The raven-haired man just nodded, far beyond caring about the relative price of anything – and really why would he _need_ a basilisk knife in the first place? Any other knife dipped in a bit of poison would be just as good wouldn't it? The only reason he _had_ it in the first place was out of a morbid fascination with the fact that the fang that he'd had it made from had once been stuck in his arm and _killing_ him. Not exactly a fond memory, now that he thought about it. No, Crowley was welcome to have it.

Especially if he kept kissing like _that_.

Harry's air was once again stolen and all he could breathe in was _Crowley_; sharp and fresh like the night air, strong and sulphur-y like an un-wieldable flame – like Fiendfyre.

A smell of _danger _and_ demon_ that should bother him _far_ more than it did.

Because as it was, it didn't bother him at all. Instead Harry sighed contently, eyes closed, savouring the feeling of those demanding lips on his own, one of Crowley's hands tangled in his hair and another caressing the small of his back and was just about drowning completely in these sensations.

Crowley pulled back and the demon's eyes blazed with a mixture of pure lust and unadulterated wickedness when he oh-so-innocently suggested that really, as a powerful _wizard_, Harry didn't really _need_ his soul now did he? I mean, he had magic – and all that power, what use did he have for his soul?

But, though he could have _sworn_ that his body was just about on fire and though every nerve of it was tingling, Harry wasn't _completely_ driven mad.

He had the information Crowley had given him earlier about demons – and he could tell that there was more there, hidden between the lines, that the demon _hadn't_ told him. More than that, he had the sobering memory of Horcruxes to draw on - so he raised one of his eyebrows and made a counteroffer.

Harry wasn't about to sell his soul - but there were _plenty_ of other things he could probably do without.

Starting with his clothes.

Three searing kisses later, Harry hadn't actually sold any of his clothes. Just his glasses, and a variety of wizarding items from his Vaults. But, as he took of his shirt himself, he rationalised that he wasn't trading away anything he particularly wanted to keep.

He figured it was somewhat like gambling in Vegas. As long as you made sure you had nothing more with you than you were willing to lose, things couldn't get that bad.

So he made sure to imprint the thought firmly in his mind – his soul wasn't going _anywhere_. Nor was he bartering the Deadly Hallows (not that he _really_ wanted them himself, but giving away his title so soon after he'd gotten it, well, who knew what a mess that would turn out to be?), anything else, though, that was free game.

It was only thanks to his Occlumency skills (far better now than they had been under Snape's dubious guidance) that he managed to actually stay true to that. Because it was difficult to remember just _why_ he couldn't say yes to whatever Crowley offered when the man was trailing his fingers down Harry's spine.

Crowley was still a demon, and a damned good one at that.

Lucky for Harry, _he_ was a wizard, was filthy rich _and_ the Master of Death. More than that, he was a Gryffindor and he didn't feel a hint of fear as he threw himself to the demon's torturous mercy.

He'd probably be alone, sore and a thousand things poorer tomorrow, but it would definitely be worth it.

His last thought before he fully surrendered to feeling, to touch and to the fire consuming him_ – _was that he'd never actually been to Vegas – perhaps, if the _did_ wake up alone, he should go there next?

* * *

(Word Count: 1000)

**A.N.:** So yeah, I decided on a longer chapter for the end… Does this even feel like an end? I'm not sure if I like it, actually... I feel that maybe Harry's thoughts take away from the whole thing - that they might break the flow? Maybe I should go more with descriptive touching? And that sounds weird. And slightly disturbing. I don't think that's actually a thing. o.0

But you know what I mean, right?

You know what, for my first slash story – I think I'm ok. (Is this still T - I have a habit of rating pretty much everything T...)


End file.
